No More Wasting Time
by PrairieLily
Summary: Greg and Molly find themselves working together, to not only save themselves, but to stop wasting time. MOLLSTRADE, but not in the Mollstrade Universe I've been writing lately. For as much as I'd love to claim Greg for my very own, he belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Molly belongs to Moftiss. No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade sat quietly with his back to Dr. Molly Hooper. The floor of her lab was cold, but was still no match the icy block in his gut. The only warmth his body honestly felt was the warmth that his back was drawing from Molly's.

Molly, for her part, felt equally chilled, the only parts of her own body that felt any warmth drew it from Greg. Her back, bumped up against his, and her hands, which grasped his for reassurance as they were bound behind their backs.

Silently, privately, they both cursed themselves for being so stupid, so careless, as to allow any of this to happen in the first place.

Molly closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of her young colleague, Terry McDaid, cut down in cold blood by the single bullet that had been fired by their captor after he'd been forced at gunpoint to bind her hands to Greg's.

Greg closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to shut out his frustration at whoever had decided that regular police in the UK should be unarmed, and anger at himself for not listening to his own instincts.

Molly felt she'd failed Terry McDaid.

Greg felt he'd failed Molly.

Maybe it was his instincts that had brought him through those doors in the first place, though, he thought. No policeman worth his salt would avoid a situation like this. They had made a vow to serve and to protect, after all, and Greg Lestrade hadn't risen to the rank of Detective Inspector by being a career coward. Sitting on the floor, bound to Molly by an angry gunman, held hostage, he forced himself to focus.

Molly leaned her head back, finding it resting at the nape of Greg's neck, and turned it as best she could towards him. Somehow she found comfort in that, and wiggled her fingers around to interlace with his. He responded by giving them a squeeze, turning his head just enough to acknowledge her gesture.

Greg noticed that their captor was preoccupied in his own mind, muttering and pacing back and forth.

This was bad. Very bad.

That made him unpredictable.

And very, very, dangerous.

"Molly," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you okay?"

Molly flinched slightly at the sudden sound, unexpected. She forced herself to breathe while avoiding the impulse to clear her throat.

"Yeah... Greg… not going to lie, I'm scared to death."

"Hang in there lass. We're in this together."

Molly took a deep breath, letting it out as silently as she could.

"I know. Listen… Greg, if we don't get out of this, I mean, if one of us or even both of us…"

"No, Molly," he whispered. "You can't think like that…"

"Greg, please listen. If we don't get out of this, if something happens, you have to know that I…" she trailed off, closing her eyes.

Greg's brows furrowed and he turned his head better, focusing on the sound of her voice.

"You have to know that I love you," Molly said. "I'm so so sorry… I know you've fancied me for a while but I was too… distracted to do anything…"

She stopped speaking, her voice threatening to catch. Greg took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Well then… you should probably know that I love you too, Molly. It's been more than just fancying for a long time." He glanced over at their captor, noting that he was still pacing, seemingly caught up in his own mind, at least for the moment.

"I hoped so," Molly said softly. "So this is what we're going to do, Gregory Lestrade. If we get out of this, both of us, we're going to stop wasting time. Life is just too bloody short," she choked out, catching her voice to stay as quiet as possible, but finding herself unable to avoid glancing over at her lost young colleague.

Greg squeezed her hand one last time. "Right, then. We're just going to get out of this then, aren't we love? We're going to work together like we mean it. Now, I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but my hands aren't that big. Never thought that would ever be a good thing, but right now, it is. I think I can…" he said, wiggling them, bending his thumbs as much as he could and curling his palms into themselves. Doing this, he found he could work them partially through the bindings. "SHIT," he cussed. "Not quite small enough."

Molly thought a moment, then decided. "Greg, this might hurt a bit, please forgive me," she said, as she grasped his hands again and squeezed hard. Greg caught his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"Bollocks Molly," he gasped, but realized that she had managed to make them just compact enough to slide one of his hands out of the bindings. "Well I guess I did say we work together," he said, when she'd released her grip. "Right then, one down. Easy does it Molly, I think I can get the other…" he muttered, as he worked his other hand free.

"What can you feel back there," she whispered, her focus returned. She forced back a giggle as she heard Greg stifle a chuckle. Stress had a weird effect on a person, sometimes, she realized. The most inappropriate reactions at the worst of times.

"Knots," he said. "Let me work at them a bit. How are you at self-defence? Has Sherlock taught you anything?"

"Yeah," she responded quietly. "He and John taught me the basics. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking a shit kicking, Molly. My legs are strong, I can kick like a pissed off mule, and I intend to. But once I've done that you have to be able to fend for yourself while I get my balance back. Shouldn't take but a few moments. Can you do that, Lass?"

Molly didn't hesitate. "Yes, I can. I will. For us."

Greg nodded with a quiet sigh of relief. His fingers, nimble from a guitar hobby, worked the remaining knots loose and he felt Molly's hands grasp his again as they became fully free.

"Greg," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, if I haven't mentioned it."

"You might have," he whispered back. "I love you too, if I haven't said so."

"You possibly did," Molly responded. "No more wasted time, Gregory. No bloody more… On your mark."

Greg took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer. "Hey," he said loudly. "You're a cocky little prick, aren't you, little thing. You smart enough to realize you've got a high ranking copper tied up on the floor here, hey?"

Their captor stopped his pacing, and glanced over at Greg.

"Really. A genuine copper. Well, that puts a new spin on things, don' it mate," he said. Greg kept his eyes on him as he slowly made his way towards him. Greg gave him his best arrogant asshole smile, hoping it would be enough to provoke him.

He waited as their captor crouched down to return the expression of defiance. Nodding his head upwards, Greg grinned crookedly, lowering his eyelids, challenging him. Behind his back, he gave Molly's hands one final squeeze for a cue before he placed his on the floor, bracing himself. Pulling himself back a few inches, he rolled backwards, Molly sliding away from him and bounding to her feet, as Greg brought his legs back and kicked forward with all of his strength at the crouched form of their captor. He winced as the pistol the man had held went flying, praying it didn't have a hair trigger. Greg's calculated risk proved to be a wise one, it turned out, as he watched it land and slide across the floor, well out of reach.

Old man football was still football, and it was definitely enough conditioning to incapacitate the gunman long enough for them both to jump to their feet and find their footing.

Molly whirled around, as their captor rose to his feet. Wobbly from Greg's mule kick, but still threatening, he bolted forwards towards them and the heel of Molly's hand found its mark under his chin. As he fell backwards again, Greg moved around, grabbing his arms, and pulled them behind him, spinning him a half turn and slamming him against one of Molly's metal mortuary tables.

Not knowing how she knew, but just knowing, Molly reached around Greg's waist, retrieving his cuffs, and deftly slapped them on, completing the mission.

It took a moment for Greg to regain his composure after the adrenaline rush.

"Do I want to ask how you knew how to do that?" he said, his voice betraying his shock.

"You could but I'm not sure myself," Molly admitted.

Her adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the reality of the situation began to take hold.

"Oh God, Greg," she whispered, as she glanced around, still struggling to breathe normally. The lifeless body of Terry McDaid still lay where he had fallen. She fought back tears, not unnoticed by Greg.

"Chin up, love," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist protectively. "Just a little bit longer, then we'll fall apart together, hey? I promise."

Molly leaned in to him and took a ragged sigh, swallowing hard and nodding. "Together. Got it," she said, as the backup that had been called in the moment someone had heard gunshots inside the lab finally arrived. Greg gratefully gave up control of the suspect and the scene. He stood back, taking in one final look as his own adrenaline started to wear off.

He glanced over at the fallen Terry McDaid briefly, then turned himself to block Molly's view of him, leaning down to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Come on my Lass," he said softly, as Molly straightened her back and took his hand, allowing him to lead her out through the doors.


	2. Chapter 2

When Molly and Greg had made their way outside the doors at New Scotland Yard after giving their statements on their ordeal in the morgue, they took deep breaths, taking in the cooler air outside.

There were times when even London in the lungs was favourable to the alternative, Greg thought.

Molly, holding Greg's arm, pulled herself closer to him, partly in possession of what they'd begun – albeit under duress, but begun nonetheless – and partly out of exhaustion.

When they'd made their way to his car, they stopped, and Greg turned to wrap his arms around her.

"Your place or mine?" Molly asked, sounding completely spent from the events of the day.

Greg wasn't surprised she didn't want them to go their separate ways – in fact, he was relieved, and so he didn't hesitate. "Yours. I believe Toby needs feeding and such. It's not fair to leave him completely on his own, now is it? Besides, the last thing I want to do right now is let you out of my sight."

Molly realized one of the little reasons why she had managed to fall in love with him – the small things he seemed to consider and keep in mind. He had remembered her cat, of all things.

"You're right, of course. My place it is. We should probably stop somewhere to grab a bite of takeaway though. I'm not really hungry but we will be soon enough and we will need to eat at some point. I doubt either of us wants to cook," she said.

Greg laughed, a burst of ironic chuckle. "Listen to us, Lass," he said. "Housecats and takeaway, you'd think we'd been together a lot longer than three hours. We've already hit a rut of domesticity and I haven't even properly kissed you yet."

Molly wrapped her arms tighter around him, burying her face in his chest as she giggled softly. "A rut. Oh God Greg, I love a rut. Today was just too much adventure for _anyone_. Give me a rut as long as I can be stuck in it with you," she said. She pulled back from him and looked up at him, her smile tired, but determined.

"What was that you were saying about a proper kiss?" she asked.

Greg didn't need any more invitation than that. Leaning down towards her, he met her as she raised herself on her toes to greet him, and their lips met in a tired but tender kiss, one so casually passionate that they felt they'd done it a thousand times before.

"Better?" he murmured as they finally broke away from each other. Molly looked up at him, nodding.

"Perfect," she said. "So… what happens tomorrow?"

Greg pulled her towards him again, wrapping his arms around her and resting his cheek on her temple. "We wait, I don't think they need any more statements from us, seems Riley has this one and he's pretty thorough, especially considering our direct involvement. We may be put on stress leave for a couple of days, I expect. We need to decompress, lass. I suggest we lay low for a day or two. We can do that at my place if you'd like, we can pack up the cat and bring him with us.

"Really?" Molly asked, surprised. "You'd bring Toby with us to your place?"

Greg shrugged. "Of course I would, he's your pet. Anyway I don't mind, I could use a mouser in the place for a few days. Toby and I get along well enough."

"You're amazing," she said, looking up at him, wondering briefly how many years it would take her to count all of her blessings.

"So are you," he replied. "Do you realize what you did today? You kept a level head, you knew what to do and you did it without hesitating. I love you so much, Molly Hooper, and that's only one of a million reasons why. You are beautiful and caring and lovely but you are so bloody strong and capable too. I know you were scared, love, but you showed a level of bravery that I've rarely seen apart from my Met colleagues."

"Well," Molly said quietly, "if that's me scared, you should see me when I'm pissed off. We'd make a hell of a team then, wouldn't we?" She pulled back from Greg for a moment as he looked down at her, finding himself met with an impish little grin and a wink.

Greg laughed softly as he gave her a squeeze, kissing the top of her head. "We already do, Lass."


	3. Chapter 3

Something wasn't quite right, Greg sensed.

Molly – his Molly – was too calm and collected.

He never claimed to know everything there was to know about human nature, but experience and a keen eye for clues born of body language had taught him that there was nearly always more than met the eye. And in this case, Greg knew exactly what was going on, and what was going to closely follow on its heels.

When they had arrived back at Molly's flat, Toby winding his way around their feet in his subtle way of saying "feed me damnit", Greg had taken Molly's coat to hang up while she carried their takeaway into the kitchen to set on the counter.

She had set the kettle to boil, and calmly made tea. She had fed Toby, replaced the water in his dish, and then handed a cup to Greg, motioning him to sit down.

Greg waited patiently. She needed to talk, to get things out, but he didn't know when, exactly. He only knew that he would be there when it happened.

When they had had enough of the casual chit-chat, but not enough of cuddling and closeness, Molly had invited him to her bed. He accepted, on the condition that they do no more than simply hold each other this first night. Too much had happened, and he wanted their first time to be unsullied by tragedy and trauma.

Molly had agreed that this was probably the wise way to go about it, and had once again privately marvelled at how blessed she was to have a man who was this incredibly unselfish.

They lay together in the near-dark, the silence broken only by the soothing sound of Toby purring under Greg's hand from his newly claimed spot between Greg and the edge of his side of the bed. On Greg's other side, Molly had cuddled up tightly to him, her arm draped over his waist, her head resting on his chest. Beneath her ear, she took comfort in the steady, strong rhythm of his heart beat.

"Tell me about him," Greg said, suddenly. "Tell me about Terry."

Molly remained silent for a minute or so. Greg felt her breathing catch for a second, and then quicken briefly.

"What do you want to know?" Molly asked, when she'd regained her senses.

"Anything, whatever you want to say about him," Greg said, bringing his hand away from the now slumbering Toby and over to Molly.

Molly paused, then took a deep breath. Greg noted the nearly imperceptible shudder as she exhaled. She was close, he thought.

"He's… he was… 30 years old. He'd been on staff for oh, maybe eight months."

"What else?" Greg pressed her.

"He specialized in ballistics and blood spatter." Molly wasn't sure what Greg wanted to know, or why, but she trusted him.

"You've told me about your colleague. Now tell me about your friend, Lass. Tell me about Terry."

"He liked to sing stupid Irish drinking songs in the lab," Molly laughed sadly. "He had a dark sense of humour like a lot of us do in this job, but he had the kindest heart. He always treated our cases with the victim in mind. He never gave them a number, he always referred to them by their name. He said that death shouldn't be allowed to take away the person they had been in life."

Greg closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Turning his head, he pressed his lips to Molly's head, lingering there before turning to rest his chin against her hair.

"He had a girlfriend but they'd only been together for a few months," Molly continued, her voice beginning to quiver slightly. "He liked to wear a lot of green. He said it was Meg's favourite colour on him."

"Meg? His girlfriend?" Greg asked.

Molly unconsciously tightened her grip on him, not uncomfortably so for Greg, but enough for him to know that she was closer still.

"Yeah. Oh darling you should have seen them together, I've never seen a more perfect couple since…" she trailed off, her voice beginning to break.

"Since us as of 12 hours ago?" Greg gently prodded.

"Yeah," Molly only managed, before she came apart in Greg's arms.

He held her, gently stroking her arm, wondering how he would react if he had lost a friend that way.

Would he keep his composure intact, or would he lay himself out bare and raw for Molly to hold together, the way he was doing for her right now?

He certainly trusted her enough with his heart to do so.

When the storm had begun to pass, Greg knew it by the rhythm of Molly's breathing, slowly becoming steadier with the passing minutes. Finally, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Greg smiled sadly in the dark.

"Why did it take all day for that to happen, love?" she asked him, her voice still thick from her cathartic cry.

"Shock, I would guess. It's a coping mechanism. One of the stages of grief, actually. Eventually that wears off and… this," Greg said. "Oh Lass," he suddenly said, "please don't feel guilty for this. We experienced something deeply traumatic today, your reactions and your behaviour are perfectly normal. Your shock wore off and the dam finally broke, that's all."

"You know the really stupid thing, Greg? I know all of that. I know it. I've seen it so bloody often on the job. Then it happens to me and I forget all of it." Molly shifted her head to face him better as she propped herself up on one elbow.

Under different circumstances, Greg thought casually that he would find her to be an utterly impossible temptation to resist. Silently, he reflected on the irony that here he was, in Molly's bed, for the very first time, and neither of them had any interest in any physical intimacy. At least, not this night.

He raised his hand to stroke her face, and she just managed to catch his smile in the dim lighting that came in through her window. "Theory and practice, Lass. They are rarely bedfellows."

Molly nodded, averting her eyes, pausing for a moment to think and to reflect. Finally, she raised her gaze back to Greg's.

"What about you, darling Gregory? How are you doing right now?"

Greg smiled sadly. "I'm okay," he said, amazed but not the least bit surprised that Molly, in her own grief, would think about him and how he was feeling about all this. "I didn't know Terry really, only by association. My trauma today came from what might have happened to you. But it's over, we're safe, and we're okay. I'm okay." His eyes shone in the muted light of the bedroom as Molly brought her hand up to stroke his face, seeming to concentrate on the stubble of his long-past-five-o'clock shadow.

"Really, I am, I promise," he said, laughing softly. He closed his eyes as Molly brought her face down to kiss him, chastely at first, but the intensity growing steadily. Finally, her point made, she pulled away and opened her eyes to see an expression of pure serenity on Greg's face.

"Tonight we cope," Molly said. "Tomorrow, it will be about us. I won't wait another minute past it," she vowed, sliding her hand up to run through his silver hair. "We've already wasted too much time."

"We really need to remember to pack Toby's bed then," Greg said with a quiet chuckle. "I'll share you with him tonight, but tomorrow night, that bloody cat is on his own."


End file.
